


dissimulation

by Slice_of_Apple



Category: Shingeki no Kyojin | Attack on Titan
Genre: A bit silly, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, Angry Eren Yeager, Angry Jean Kirstein, Angst and Hurt/Comfort, Attempt at Humor, Fake/Pretend Relationship, Fluff, Fluff and Angst, Friends to Lovers, Idiots in Love, M/M, OOC Marco was a jerk in the past, Poor Mikasa but she is kind of a stalker, Romance, Sweet, stalker!Mikasa
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-11-20
Updated: 2020-11-20
Packaged: 2021-03-09 22:21:45
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 10,652
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/27643373
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Slice_of_Apple/pseuds/Slice_of_Apple
Summary: Grad student Eren enlists the help of reluctant neighbor Jean Kirstein to put an end to Mikasa's overwhelming attention. Yes! The fake boyfriend trope! Fluff.
Relationships: Jean Kirstein/Eren Yeager
Comments: 11
Kudos: 172





	dissimulation

Eren is walking home from the library. He shivers in the cold. He has a lot of tedious work to finish tonight before he goes to sleep, and the dark, gloomy evening matches his mood perfectly.

He’s waiting at the intersection, making a list in his mind of exactly what needs to be done, when the light changes. He is about to step into the street when he notices out of the corner of his eye that a car is barreling towards the crosswalk without slowing down.

Eren stops, mentally cursing the asshole who is not paying attention. He isn’t fully aware when someone near him keeps walking into the path of the car.

Almost without conscious thought, he slams his hand out and grabs the person’s sleeve, yanking them out of the way of the oncoming car. Eren can just make out the driver, still with his head down, texting on his phone, as the car rushes through the red light.

“Stupid texting drivers!” he mutters. “And you should watch where you’re going! You almost got flattened!” Fear makes his voice sharp.

It’s a woman, looking thoroughly stunned. She’s extraordinarily pretty, with even features, enormous eyes magnified by her glasses, and thick black hair falling softly down her back. Wait a minute. She looks familiar. Minus the glasses and with shorter hair.

“ _Mikasa?_ Holy shit! It’s me, Eren. From Blake fourth floor. Remember?”

He and Mikasa lived in the same floor their freshman year. What the heck? She was always so focused. She wouldn’t space out crossing a street!

She looks at him with a puzzled expression on her face. She is trembling slightly.

“Yes. I remember you,” she says in a muted voice.

“Are you okay?” he asks.

She nods.

“You look pretty shaken up. Are you hurt? Do you need to go to Urgent Care?”

She shakes her head. The trembling intensifies.

“Is there anyone I can call for you? A friend? A family member?”

She shakes her head more forcefully, and her eyes look wet. She is now practically shuddering. Eren unwinds the scarf from around his neck and wraps it around hers. She doesn’t protest, merely stands patiently while he does it.

“Let’s get something warm inside you.”

There’s a coffee shop around the corner, and he grips her elbow and propels her into the toasty, comforting interior.

“What would you like?” he asks gently.

“Tea, please,” she says.

He brings their drinks to the table.

“Are you sure you remember me?” he asks. She’s acting so strangely.

“Yes, of course I remember you,” she says. Eren is relieved to hear that her voice has firmed up, sounding much more like the old, authoritative Mikasa from college. “Thank you for grabbing me like that. I’ve been distracted lately.”

“Why is that?” Eren asks curiously. It’s so unlike the Mikasa he remembers.

Mikasa looks at him for a long moment, then down at her mug of tea.

“My parents died a few weeks ago.”

“Oh,” says Eren, taken aback. “I’m sorry. What happened? Only if you want to talk about it, of course,” he adds hastily.

“They were killed by a drunk driver,” she says quietly.

“Ah,” he says, grimacing. “How terrible.”

She nods.

“Do you have any brothers or sisters?”

She shakes her head.

“Cousins?”

“No. My mother was an orphan and my father was estranged from his family. We were never in touch with any of them. ”

“So you’re all alone?”

“I’m not alone, no,” she says. “I room with Annie now.”

Right. Annie. The scary woman who lived at the end of the hall. Well, people were strange.

“Are you… depressed?” he asks cautiously.

She looks up at him. “I’m sad, yeah. But no, I’m not depressed. And I wasn’t trying to kill myself,” she says steadily. “I was just thinking about them, and how my mum loved to bake cranberry bread this time of year.” Her eyes fill with tears.

Eren closes his hand around hers. “That’s really tough,” he says. “Is Annie around? Can I call her and make sure she’s at home? I think you should be with someone tonight.”

“You’re probably right,” she agrees. “I can text her.” She gets out her phone and types in a message. There is an immediate answering chime. “She’s home.”

“Great. Can I walk you there?”

“Thanks. I live close by.”

As they walk down the street, she asks, “Your parents are… dead, too. Right?”

“Yeah,” says Eren. That hurt is old, and he can talk about it calmly. “It took a while, but it does get easier. I promise you.”

They walk in silence. When they reach her building, she turns and says, “Thanks again.” She smiles a small smile up at him.

“Here’s my number if I can help with anything. Call anytime. I mean it. Here’s my address, too. And maybe you should get in touch with your doctor, yeah? Get hooked up with someone who can help you with some of the feelings and stuff?”

Mikasa smiles her small smile again and turns to climb the stairs, her hand buried in the scarf around her neck.

It starts slowly and seemingly innocently, with a letter in his mailbox.

“Thank you for saving my life, Eren.”

Soon, there are almost daily notes. While at first Eren answers them, he stops by the fifth note. He doesn’t want to encourage this behavior. He’s glad Mikasa is alive and engaging with the world, but he doesn’t have time for idle chit chat and, truth be told, there has always been something about her that has made him a little gun-shy.

She is not deterred, however. She starts leaving him other things, most often food. He’ll find a bag of carrots, or snap peas, or tomatoes, hanging from his doorknob when he gets home at night.

Eventually, she starts bringing him dinner on Friday nights. She also sets up a regular farm box for him and drops it off on Saturday afternoons. When she comes by, she is invariably wearing Eren’s scarf.

It’s when he receives his fourth box filled with kale that he admits to himself that things have gone too far. He lifts up the huge, thick fronds and lets them fall back into the box. What the hell is he going to do with _that_?

He tries, tentatively at first, to tell Mikasa to back off. It doesn’t work. He becomes increasingly blunt.

He finally says, “Mikasa, stop leaving me food, and stop coming around. I don’t want to see you.” There. It’s done. He doesn’t think he can be any clearer.

But all she says in response is, “You need to eat better, Eren.”

He tries again: in texts, emails, and on the phone.

The following Friday, she’s at his door as though nothing has changed. “Eren. Eren? Are you there? I’ve got dinner!” At this point, her voice is like fingernails on a chalkboard to him.

_Fuck._ Something has to be done.

Eren hurries to catch up with his neighbor at the mailboxes. Jean lives directly across from him. They are not friends, but they have an informal, neighborly arrangement: when one of them is away, the other moves his car for street cleaning and brings in any stray mail that has made it past the mail hold. Jean is an arrogant bastard, but a reliable one.

“Hey, Kirstein,” Eren calls out awkwardly.

Jean turns around. “Jaeger,” he nods, a cool expression on his face.

Eren stands, fiddling with the wrapper in his hand.

“What?” Jean asks impatiently. He stuffs his mail into his backpack.

Now that Eren is actually facing Jean, the idea that had earlier seemed so promising feels completely ridiculous. Jean’s obvious impatience doesn’t help, either. Eren is remembering that lately Jean is always curt when he talks to Eren, always eager to get away from him. How could he possibly have thought this was a good idea? He should forget the whole thing.

“Never mind,” he says. “It’s stupid.”

“What’s stupid?” demands Jean, his curiosity, naturally, piqued.

“Nothing.”

“Tell me.”

“Nah, I changed my mind,” says Eren.

“You can’t do that, you bastard.”

“Yes I can. It’s humiliating. And weird.”

“Now you definitely have to tell me.” Jean’s eyes are gleaming.

“No.” Eren shakes his head.

“Seriously. I won’t move your car for street cleaning anymore unless you tell me.”

Eren lets out a long breath. “It’s only because I’m desperate, understand?”

Jean nods, excited. He knows Eren is about to spill some juicy beans.

“OK.” Eren exhales again. He hitches his thick, black-framed glasses up his nose. They are slightly tinted, so it’s difficult to get a good look at the eyes behind the lenses.

“Well. There’s this woman…”

Jean raises one eyebrow. (How does he _do_ that? Eren wonders idly. He resists an unexpected urge to reach out and outline the perfectly curving brow with his index finger).

“I – I helped her out one night.”

Jean arches the brow still further. “Is that what we’re calling it now?”

“No. No! Nothing like that, you dirty-minded freak! She was standing in the street and some stupid driver ran a red light and almost hit her. I pulled her back, that’s all. The point is that she was grateful, and now she won’t leave me alone.”

“Oh,” Jean nods sagely. “She’s ugly, eh?”

“Oh my God! You are such a neanderthal!” Eren almost turns on his heel and leaves. It’s only his desperation that keeps him there. “It has nothing to do with what she looks like. And anyway, she’s lovely,” he can’t help adding. It’s true. Mikasa is strikingly beautiful.

“A hot babe is pursuing you? What’s the problem?”

“I should have known talking to you would be a bad idea,” Eren mutters, closing his eyes and rubbing the back of his neck.

“Okay. Sorry.” Jean adopts a serious expression. Eren can tell it is a well-practiced, professional look. It must be the one he uses when he’s working with undergraduates. His T.A. face, Eren thinks. Fooling those suckers into thinking he gives a fuck. “What’s the problem then?”

“The problem, for your information, is that she won’t leave me alone.”

“So you’ve said.”

“She’s constantly trying to feed me.”

Jean bursts out laughing. “So?” So much for the façade of professional concern.

“It’s annoying and distracting, and, frankly, a bit troubling.”

“If it’s really that bad, you should take out a restraining order. That’ll put a stop to it.”

“I’ve thought about it,” Eren says.

“You have?” Jean frowns. “It _must_ be bad, then.”

“I just - I can’t. Her parents died in a drunk driving accident, and she’s a total mess. I feel sorry for her. I’ve recommended she seek professional help multiple times, but she doesn’t seem to be taking me up on that particular suggestion. Instead, she’s driving me absolutely bonkers, always coming by with vegetables and whatnot. And then she sits and watches me eat. She says I don’t eat enough healthy food.”

Eren observes Jean’s internal struggle as he tries not to stare at the bitten-off twinkie in Eren’s hand. The battle is quickly lost, and he nods accusingly at the offending substance. “That’s not even food. That’s some kind of weird, chemical goo that will reside in your system until the apocalypse.” 

“I know,” Eren sighs. “I don’t even _like_ twinkies. I think I’m subconsciously trying to sabotage her.”

“That’s screwed up, man. Your body is a temple and all that.” 

“I know! Believe me, I know! I told you. I’m desperate.”

“Can’t you just give her a firm ‘No’?”

“I’ve tried! So many times. She’s… tenacious.”

Jean looks at him thoughtfully. Eren can tell that Jean doesn’t really believe him, that he thinks Eren is merely being wimpy.

“How could _I_ possibly help with this… troubling situation?” he asks.

Ah. They’ve arrived at the crux of the matter.

“Well. I was thinking,” Eren says slowly. “If you wouldn’t mind.” Now that it’s time to reveal his proposal, it feels too pathetic for words. Does he really want to say it out loud to Jean, of all people? Jean, with his arrogant smirk and his nose in the air? Jean will never let him live it down. But then the thought of Mikasa hounding him continuously, when he has so much _work_ to do, fills him with fear. He’s got to end this, by whatever means necessary. He knows it’s a crazy solution, but he honestly thinks it might work, and Jean is, frankly, perfect for the job. He’s perfect in a way which, Eren reminds himself, has nothing whatsoever to do with his gorgeousness, and everything to do with the proximity of his living quarters. 

Jean is staring at him expectantly. Of course, who wouldn’t be? Eren has dragged this out so long that Jean must think he’s about to reveal some fiendish plot, possibly criminal in nature.

“If you would consider,” he says, to give himself more time. “Perhaps.” It’s like the first time he climbed up onto the high diving board at the pool, so excited to join the other kids screaming their heads off as they leaped into the air. It was only when he was up there that he realized that the screams were screams for a reason. He had eventually made himself jump, vaulting wildly into thin air. That’s what it feels like now. He has to vault wildly into thin air.

“Would you pretend to be my boyfriend?” he says in one breath, staring at Jean’s collar. He has an unfortunate tendency to blush, and he knows that his face must be bright red by now. 

“Ha, ha. Funny. Nice joke. Seriously, how could I actually help with this?”

“I _am_ being serious. I know it sounds absurd. But it’s honestly the only thing left I can think of. If she thinks I have a boyfriend, I hope – I hope she’ll leave me alone. She usually comes on Fridays. So, if you could come over on Friday evenings – only if you’re not busy of course, and sometimes I go out, so not on those Fridays, either – but – but, when you’re free. If you could be at my place when she arrives? And hang out for an hour or two? I think it would only take a few times, and she’d get the picture. I could get dinner, and we could watch a movie or something?”

Jean’s expression grows increasingly horrified with every word Eren says, which is not at all what anyone wants to see when suggesting someone be their boyfriend, fake or otherwise. Is he really so repulsive to Jean? Eren’s heart sinks at the thought. However, it’s not going to stop him, because he _is_ desperate, and desperate people don’t let things like a little humiliation get in their way.

So, instead of saying, “Fuck you, I don’t want to date you either, dickwad,” he says, in an attempt to reassure Jean, “It would be pretend. I swear!”

Jean’s face settles slightly, as if this is indeed reassuring to him. Eren’s heart sinks further.

“Please?” Eren can’t believe he’s begging. Especially someone who is so clearly repulsed by him. It’s moved well beyond the embarrassing stage and creeping into territory that is frankly degrading. He rapidly tries to come up with an alternate solution. He could move, perhaps? But he’s so damn busy right now, and Mikasa would probably hunt him down anyway. Plus, this graduate student housing is cheaper by far than anything else he could find.

But then another thought strikes Eren.

“Unless you’re… seeing someone?” He’s surprised he hadn’t thought of that possibility before, especially considering how attractive Jean is. He used to see Jean a lot with that really tall guy with freckles, the one with the snooty expression on his face, but that was a long time ago.

“No,” Jean shakes his head. “I’m not.” But the question seems to have prompted something in him, because his face stretches into an exaggerated leer, and he says, in a mocking voice, “Jaeger. This is quite a convoluted plot of yours. If you wanted to go out with me that badly, you could have simply asked.”

Eren starts. This is worse than Jean’s horror, even, this leering mockery. And it turns out that there is, after all, a limit to the degree of humiliation Eren is willing to endure without protest.

"Fuck you,” he says. “I don’t want to date you either, dickwad.” Is he imagining it, or is there a flicker of unhappiness in Jean’s eyes at this? No, just a trick of the light. He adopts a business-like tone; the one he uses with his _own_ undergraduates. “But, as I’ve mentioned, I’m desperate. You live right here. It would be extremely convenient. And you’d be helping me out of a very sticky situation. I’d owe you big-time.”

Jean’s eyes glimmer at this. No doubt he’s thinking about all the ways he could exact payment from Eren. Ah, well, Eren can’t worry about that now. Negotiation always involves compromise, after all.

“I could always pay you back in kind,” he offers up. “The next time you want to impress your friends and colleagues with evidence of your manly prowess in attracting such a dream date as myself, I’m happy to stand in.”

The corners of Jean’s lips tip up.

Emboldened, Eren presses on. “This could also be considered as a kind of boyfriend purgatory. You can make up for all the mistakes in your past relationships, purge your sins, as it were, with this remarkable act of selflessness, and start your next real relationship with a clean slate.”

Instead of smiling (it was a funny remark, wasn’t it?), Jean frowns unhappily. He puts his hands up, wrists bent, palms facing Eren. He’s shaking his head, too. When Jean speaks, it’s in what Eren thinks is probably his real voice, all impatience, fake solicitude, and mockery gone. “I’m sorry. I feel for you. I really do. But I’m extremely busy right now, and also I – I can’t participate in that kind of deception.”

Eren can see Jean means it. He isn’t going to budge. He’s also right; there is indeed something underhandedly sleazy about the whole affair.

“I understand,” he says in a flat voice. He’ll just have to figure something else out. Or find someone else to be his fake boyfriend. For some reason, the thought does not excite him.

He watches Jean gallop up the stairs away from him.

Once he is safely in his apartment, Jean slumps into the couch. He is thoroughly disgusted with himself. What pod person took over his brain for that conversation? It had been one stupid comment after another. “She’s ugly”? “A hot babe”? “If you wanted to go out with me that badly, you could have just asked”? Jean closes his eyes, cringing. And then, worst of all, “I can’t participate in that kind of deception”. What an asshole he is, pretending _he_ has the moral high ground. Talk about lying. The truth is, he is attracted to Eren. He has been for some time. He’s just such a fucking coward that he hasn’t been able to do anything about it. So instead he runs away from him. And then to pretend to Eren that he is too holy, too good of a person, to participate in such a charade – Jean shudders and buries his head in one of the cushions.

Marco’s face swims up unbidden in his mind. Fucking Marco! It’s been so long, and yet it seems like it happened only yesterday.

Jean had been head over heels in love with Marco, and he had thought Marco felt the same, that everything was going along swimmingly. Jean had even allowed himself to think that they might get _married_ , for fuck’s sake, at some point in the ill-defined future. And then that fateful afternoon…

_“But – but why, Marco?”_

_“It’s time for us to move on, Jean. You must feel it, too. That we’ve grown apart.”_

_“No! I don’t feel that. I don’t feel that at all. I love you, Marco! And you said you loved me, too. Even this morning, you told me you loved me!”_

_Marco sighs. “The simple truth is that I don’t love you, Jean. I never have. I only said it because you said it to me. Really, it was all a big mistake.”_

After Marco had walked out, leaving him curled up on this very same couch, Jean had said to himself: _So this is what a broken heart feels like_. It had been a physical pain, an awful, wrenching ache in his chest. It was agonizingly present, every day. Every day Marco wasn’t where he used to be: at the coffee shop, next to Jean in lecture halls, on Jean’s couch, in his bed. And when the agony had finally faded, like a bruise, to nothing, that’s what was left inside Jean as well – an empty nothing.

And then, in the most stupid, cliché way imaginable, Jean has become too frightened to think of facing that kind of pain again. He would rather run away every time he sees Eren than risk it. Empty is better. Empty is pain-free.

Jean’s going to go for a run while the the lasagna cools off. He’s all set up for a lovely evening of solitude when he gets back. He’s got his hand on the doorknob when he hears the voice. 

“Eren,” it says. He quietly turns the knob and opens the door slightly. Wait a minute. Could it be? Is it _Friday?_

“Eren,” the voice repeats, in a grating, wheedling tone.

Just when Jean thinks she’s given up, he hears her voice again. “Eren, I know you’re in there.”

The sound of a door opening.

“Listen, Mikasa, you’re disturbing the neighbors. I appreciate your kind intentions, but you need to leave. Now.”

Jean is encouraged to hear Eren sound so firm.

“I’ll only come in for a minute.”

“No! No, Mikasa, you can’t come in.”

A short pause.

“No. I said, _No_! I don’t _want_ sushi for dinner. Mikasa! Please!”

The voices fade away. Mikasa has clearly wiggled her way into Eren’s apartment.

Jean hears Eren’s faint voice. “Please leave.”

_What a freaking pushover_. Jean changes angrily out of his running clothes and picks up the lasagna with oven mitts. _Just this once_ , he tells himself.

He knocks on Eren’s still-open door and walks in without waiting for a reply.

“Sweetheart,” he warbles. “I’m here. Did you know your door was open?”

“Oh.” For a moment, Eren is speechless. Jean widens his eyes meaningfully. 

“You okay, love?” he asks, with exaggerated concern.

Eren finally cottons on. ( _Is this guy really getting his Ph.D.?_ Jean wonders. But then he remembers that simply trying to obtain a Ph.D. does not necessarily translate into a person having intelligence. He knows plenty of idiots getting their Ph.Ds. Marco is a glaring example).

“Jean, huh-honey,” he gasps. “I didn’t think you were coming over tonight?”

“I finished my work earlier than expected. I brought lasagna since it’s your favorite.” He slides the lasagna onto the stovetop, shedding the oven mitts as well. “Oh!” Jean adds, with extravagant surprise (adding in a healthy dollop of suspicion for good measure). “You have… _company_ , light of my life?”

Eren looks meaningfully back at Jean. Jean takes the hint. More isn’t always better.

“This is Mikasa. A friend of mine. She was just leaving.”

“Nice to meet you,” Jean says in a much more natural tone of voice. “It’s always lovely to meet friends of my darling boyfriend’s. I’m Jean.” He holds out his hand and Mikasa shakes it. Jean flinches slightly, and Eren remembers that Mikasa is some kind of martial arts whiz; she was always competing in tournaments back in college.

“Now, if you don’t mind, we don’t often get time alone together, what with our busy schedules and all. I’ve planned a special evening for just the two of us.” While shaking hands he’s managed to turn Mikasa around and shepherd her towards the door.

He spares a glance back at Eren. _See?_ his smug look says. _All it takes is a firm hand._

“I didn’t know you liked lasagna, Eren?” Mikasa calls out over her shoulder.

“I love it!” Eren says emphatically. “Jean makes the best lasagna in the world!” They are in the hall now, and he looks up adoringly at Jean, his eyelashes fluttering slightly. Even with the glasses on, the effect is a bit disconcerting. How big _are_ Eren’s eyes, anyway?

Jean shudders slightly. He wraps an arm around Eren’s shoulder and squeezes, perhaps tighter than necessary, before letting go. “Eren’s hopeless in the kitchen. It’s a good thing I love to cook. Isn’t it, my darling pumpkin?”

Not to be outdone, Eren grabs Jean’s forearm – ignoring the slight flinch as he does so – and stretches up on his toes. “You’re the best, sweetness,” he says softly, pecking Jean’s cheek.

The touch of Eren’s lips is fleeting, but Jean feels heat rise in his face. His stomach drops unpleasantly, as though he’s in a rapidly plunging elevator.

Mikasa’s eyes narrow. Jean forces himself to ignore Eren’s pliant, loving closeness ( _It’s all fake_ ) and focus on the task at hand: getting her out of Eren’s apartment. He clears his throat and is happy to hear that his voice is only a little rough around the edges.

“Lovely to meet you, Mikasa. Thank you for your understanding. See you another time, perhaps.”

They are at the door, Mikasa almost through it. He hands her the bag of sushi, pushing her gently, and she’s… out. He quickly shuts the door behind her. 

“And – voila!” he says with a flourish and a bow. He is obviously proud of himself.

There is an almost immediate knock.

“Eren?”

Jean frowns. He opens the door, blocking the entrance. Eren hovers behind him.

Mikasa jumps up to speak around Jean, directly to Eren.

“I hope you’re going to eat all your dinner, Eren. You know how you need to eat well for your brain to work properly.”

Eren sighs.

Jean leans in. He _is_ quite a bit taller than Mikasa, and he uses this height to his advantage. “Mikasa, I’m so grateful you’re looking out for the love of my life. Rest assured, I’ve got it covered. Thanks again. Bye!” He smiles, his teeth bared. He shuts the door with force, then locks it and noisily pulls the chain across it.

Their eyes meet. Eren thinks Jean is holding his breath, just as he himself is.

There is another knock on the door.

Jean glances at Eren in disbelief. He opens the door. “Yes?” he says, his voice frosty.

“Eren should be eating at least one serving of fruit and vegetables at every meal,” she says. “Does your lasagna have vegetables in it? Spinach or kale is best.”

“Um.” Eren is somewhat amused to find Jean, smirking, arrogant Jean, at a loss for words. He knows that Jean had been feeling pleasantly superior, thinking that soft, pathetic Eren simply couldn’t handle Mikasa. Now he’s realizing that Mikasa is made of strong stuff indeed.

But Jean rallies. After all, he’s only in his first round of this fight; he is still under the illusion that he can win.

“Mikasa, my dear, I always stuff my lasagna full of spinach. It’s more a spinach than a noodle lasagna.”

“Show me,” she demands.

“What?”

“Show me,” she repeats.

“You want me to prove to you that the lasagna has spinach in it?”

“Yes.”

Jean blinks. Eren knows this feeling all too well – as if they are in some nightmarish maze that has no exit.

“I’m sorry, Mikasa, I only made enough for my boyfriend and myself.”

There is a pause before Jean continues.

“Goodbye, now. I won’t be answering the door again. Eren and I will be engaging in passionate sexual relations momentarily, and we really do have to get down to it. I haven’t had the pleasure of my dick in Eren’s ass in over two weeks, which is far too long an interval for the two of us.”

For a moment, Mikasa is silent. Two brilliant spots of color appear on her cheeks. But if Jean thinks this is a knockout punch, he is dead wrong.

“Is that really healthy for Eren’s ass?” she asks. “I don’t think so. If anything, Eren’s dick should go in your ass, Jean.”

Jean stares at her, his mouth opening and closing. He has been reduced to speechlessness. Eren bites his cheek to stop himself from laughing out loud. He wishes he could capture this moment on film.

Jean slams the door shut.

“I see what you mean,” is all he says, when they finally, blessedly, hear the hall door open and close.

They are collapsed on the couch, Jean still recovering from his bout with the Angel of Darkness, when the doorbell rings.

“That _can’t_ be her?” Jean murmurs incredulously. Nonetheless, he tiptoes to the door, and looks through the peephole.

He turns around to face Eren, his jaw dropping. “It’s her!” he mouths. They stand behind the door, almost clutching each other with their strong, manly arms. Neither one makes the brave move to open it.

Eren has the oddest sensation that Mikasa knows they’re standing on the other side, because she says, in a low voice, “I’ve left a bag on your doorknob. Good night. Stay safe.”

They wait a good two minutes after the hall door slams shut before opening the door. Jean brings in the bag. He is holding it between his index finger and thumb with his arm outstretched, as though it’s poisoned.

In the living room, he drops it on the coffee table. It explodes, spewing its contents all over the table and across the floor. They both jump back.

Jean gingerly bends down to pick up one of the small, wrapped packages. “ ‘Ultra Ribbed,’” he reads aloud. “’For her pleasure’.” He lets out a slightly hysterical giggle.

“6, 12, 18…” Eren is counting. “There are 72 condoms here, Jean! And lube!” He holds up a mega-sized bottle.

They stare at each other, wide-eyed.

“She’s certainly optimistic about our... stamina,” Jean says weakly.

They both start to laugh, and then they can’t stop. 

Eren has recovered enough to sit up and notice the note folded up at the bottom of the bag. He opens it. “’As previously stated, it would be far better for Eren’s dick to go in Jean’s ass, as long as it has been properly cleansed. Please consider this humble request.’”

This sets them off again, until they are both sprawled out on the couch, too weak to move.

Jean finds that the entire, bizarre exchange has had the unexpected benefit of loosening him up. It’s as though they’ve survived a battle together, and he no longer feels nervous around Eren, or like he has to beat a hasty retreat.

Once he can talk again, he wastes no time saying, in a serious voice, “I stand by my earlier statement. I think it might be time for a restraining order.”

Eren shakes his head. “I can’t do that. She’s really a good person, just having a rough time right now. She’s going to get over it. Eventually.”

“I hear what you’re saying, but this is too much. Will she come back again, do you think?”

“Possibly,” Eren shrugs. “She _has_ climbed the fire escape in the past.”

“Seriously?” asks Jean. “And you don’t think she’s unhinged?”

Eren doesn’t answer. He’s said all he wants to say on the matter “Should I order dinner? It’s the least I can do. As thanks for your help.”

“My lasagna _is_ pretty good,” says Jean. “Do you like lasagna?”

“I don’t know,” says Eren thoughtfully.

“You’ve never had lasagna?”

Eren shakes his head.

“Well, that’s settled, then. You can’t go through life without ever having tried lasagna.”

As they rise, Eren says, “Thanks again, Kirstein. I know you didn’t want to do this, and I really appreciate it.”

“Now that I have a better sense of what you’re up against, I can see why you wanted backup. Plus, it’s an easy enough way to expunge all my prior dating sins.” He winks at Eren. Eren ignores the chill running up his spine at the sight of Jean’s gorgeous, winking face.

“This lasagna is amazing!” says Eren. He is practically gushing. Jean narrows his eyes. But then Eren says, “Did you really make it yourself?” in an obviously sincere tone of voice. Eren’s not taking the piss. He means it. This is followed by, “I could never cook anything like this.”

Jean snorts. “Are you kidding? Lasagna is the easiest thing you could possibly make. Except perhaps spaghetti. Of course you could make it.”

“You think so?” asks Eren doubtfully.

“You can make spaghetti, right?”

Silence.

“Jaeger, don’t tell me you can’t boil spaghetti?”

“I did try, once…”

“Christ, no wonder Mikasa feeds you. What do you eat?” He quickly adds, “Never mind,” no doubt recalling the twinkie. “How about you make spaghetti for next Friday?”

“Next Friday?”

“Aren’t we having another date on Friday?”

Eren looks confused.

“Isn’t that what you wanted your fake boyfriend for? Friday evening dates?”

Eren’s face relaxes into the biggest smile Jean has ever seen on it. Jean immediately squashes the bubble of happiness that rises up inside him at the sight. He’s most definitely _not_ going there.

“Yeah,” Eren says, nodding. “That is exactly what I wanted my fake boyfriend for. You’re on. Spaghetti at my place. 7 o’clock sharp.”

“I’ll write out the instructions for you. You’ll be able to do it, no problem. It’s impossible to ruin spaghetti.”

“I stand corrected,” says Jean, chewing on a rubbery noodle. “It _is_ possible to ruin spaghetti. How the hell did this disaster happen, man?”

He is debating whether to spit it out into his napkin or swallow the disgusting mess down. He decides on the swallowing option because, even though it’s entirely Eren’s doing, it feels too rude to actually spit out food while he’s sitting at Eren’s table. When he’s managed to choke it down, he pushes his plate away.

“I’m sorry. I can’t eat this.”

“I _told_ you,” says Eren accusingly, as if the dinner is somehow _Jean’s_ fault.

“Where’s the spaghetti?” Jean demands, standing up and walking into the kitchen. “Where’s your pot? We’re going to make it together. Right now.”

Eren points to a mini saucepan. Jean gives it a look of horrified disbelief. “You boiled the spaghetti noodles in _that_?” He exhales loudly. “That’s it. We’re doing this at my place.”

Jean’s apartment is the same layout of Eren’s, in reverse. Jean also has the same kind of standard, inexpensive grad student furniture Eren does, but he’s made it much homier: his couch looks invitingly squashy, there are a few framed prints on the walls, and the extra lamps give off a soft, comfortable glow.

Soon Jean has a potful of spaghetti boiling merrily on the stove. As the sauce heats up, a delicious aroma fills the apartment, making it even more delightfully inviting. Eren feels an odd, deep longing to sink into this cozy warmth and never get up.

“Ok. Timer’s on. Now we wait.”

Jean is leaning up against the counter. He plainly enjoys cooking. His face is pink from the heat, and his hair is shining in the light from the kitchen ceiling. He’s got a splash of tomato sauce on his shirt. He gives Eren a quick, open smile. Eren feels like he’s being sucked in from all directions: by the smell of the dinner, the wonderfully welcoming apartment, Jean’s adorably happy face. He has a sudden and almost overwhelming urge to tuck himself up under Jean’s arm. 

Holy fuck! He _likes_ Jean. One freaking fake date, and he honest-to-goodness _like_ likes Jean. The happiness at the thought immediately fades as he recalls Jean’s look of revulsion when Eren brought up the fake boyfriend idea. 

“Are you okay?” asks Jean, evidently noticing the change.

Eren consciously smooths out his face. “Yeah, yeah, I’m fine.” He’s totally fine. It’s just the hominess of the kitchen. Reminds him of his childhood home – way back when it still existed. Of course orphan Eren is vulnerable to that kind of longing. It has nothing to with Jean himself. Why get hung up on Jean, anyway? Eren lives on a university campus, for fuck’s sake. It’s full of strapping men in their 20s. There has to be _someone_ else he’s interested in. Someone who might actually like him back. He could even try a dating app (the thought alone makes his stomach hurt).

“Should we eat here or at your place?” Jean asks.

“Here,” Eren says promptly.

“This is _really_ great,’ says Eren around a mouthful. It is. The noodles are cooked to tender perfection, blending flawlessly with the rich, red sauce.

“It’s just spaghetti with tomato sauce!” says Jean, shaking his head. His mind flickers briefly to the last time he cooked spaghetti for someone, and how Marco said, after the first bite, “Do you think you added enough pepper?” He banishes the memory.

Eren makes quick work of what’s on his plate and helps himself to seconds.

“I can see why Mikasa likes to feed you,” Jean says. His curiosity gets the better of him, and he can’t help asking again, “What _do_ you usually feed yourself, aside from twinkies?”

“I mostly eat frozen dinners. Or takeout - you know, burritos, grilled cheese sandwiches,” Eren admits.

“Grilled cheese? Why would you get grilled cheese takeout? You just melt cheese on bread. It takes less than 10 minutes to make.”

“I’m not really interested in cooking,” Eren says, stating the obvious. “But I can see why you do it. This is incredible.”

“For the last time, it’s just freaking spaghetti! The sauce comes in a jar! All I do is add a little extra olive oil and a few spices,” Jean says with exasperation.

“But it’s fantastic!”

Jean rolls his eyes.

Eren glances around the room, looking for an alternate topic of conversation. “You like Alfred Hitchcock movies, eh?” he says, pointing at the tower of DVDs next to the flat screen.

“My mum is a huge Hitchcock fan, and we used to watch these together. Have you seen any of them?”

“ _Psycho_. One Halloween. It kind of creeped me out.”

“Want to try another one?”

“Maybe?” Eren says doubtfully.

“ _Shadow of a Doubt_ is one of my favorites. Let’s watch it.”

Jean is right. It’s a great movie. Eren hasn’t ever seen a black and white movie before and wouldn’t have said there was any way he would enjoy one. But he’s on the edge of his seat almost the whole second half- will the evil murderer face justice? Will innocent young Charlie escape with her life?

He really likes being here, in Jean’s cozy apartment, Jean’s dinner digesting slowly in his stomach. They are sprawled out comfortably on the squashy couch, and Jean’s lovely hair is in full view whenever he happens to glance over. In fact, if Eren stretched out his hand, he might be able to run a finger across Jean’s cheek. _Stop that nonsense at once_ , he admonishes himself. This is all _fake_. And it’s going to stay that way, what with Jean’s patent aversion to the mere suggestion of fake-dating Eren.

It’s almost midnight by the time the movie ends. Eren lets out a huge yawn.

“As your faux boyfriend, I must insist you get a good night’s sleep tonight,” says Jean.

“You are fulfilling your ersatz boyfriend duties admirably,” says Eren, as he walks towards the door. “Great food, great flick, solicitous manner. Man, why are you still single?” It’s a throwaway remark, a little bitter, and definitely trying to stick it to Jean, in a subtle, underhanded way, but Eren never claimed to be a saint, did he? 

He’s expecting some kind of smug retort in return, something disparaging about Eren having to resort to a sham relationship. Jean, however, only mumbles under his breath and turns away, busying himself with bringing their glasses into the tiny kitchen.

“Until next week,” Eren calls out, shutting the door on his way out.

The next few Fridays are much the same, except Eren doesn’t try to cook again. It’s fun and easy, hanging out with Jean. They’re slowly making their way through the Hitchcock inventory. As long as Eren doesn’t let his gaze linger on Jean, he can relax and enjoy the time together. The Big Plan seems to be working, too. Mikasa still leaves a farm box on Saturdays, but she hasn’t made a Friday appearance since that first time. Eren has a curious feeling that she’s still keeping tabs on him, out of his line of vision. But it’s at least a step in the right direction.

“Hey, Kirstein. You’ll be glad to hear that next Friday night I have a real date. Who knows? You may be on the verge of being liberated from fake boyfriend purgatory. Do you think you’ve adequately paid for your prior dating sins yet?”

“I would say so,” Jean says, at last. "Who is it?” he adds, a glutton for punishment.

“It’s a guy who was interviewing in my advisor’s department. He seems pretty fun. We’re going to go play paintball.”

“That _is_ a fun date,” says Jean, doing his best not to sound impressed. “I love paintball. It's almost as good as laser tag, even.”

“Yeah, I thought so too. It was his idea.”

Jean comes home late on Friday. Because he has work to do. Not because he wants to avoid anyone or anything. It’s 9:00 when he’s finally walking up the stairs. He’s so sure that he is late enough that he doesn’t even open the hall door with any kind of care. It’s a complete shock to find the guy standing right outside of Eren’s place, Eren locking the door behind him.

He’s tall, a lot taller than Eren. Seriously built, too. Jean doesn’t know what he was expecting, but it wasn’t this ruggedly handsome ex-quarterback.

Eren looks different. He’s dressed in old clothes (it _is_ paintball, after all), but the overall impression is… shinier. Jean finds himself wanting to touch the smooth strands of his hair, brush them away from Eren’s face. He swallows thickly when he realizes the one striking difference. Eren isn’t wearing his glasses! Jean is shot through with envy. Eren always wears his glasses around _him._

As if on cue, they turn his way and start walking down the hallway together. Jean breathes in sharply. Eren without his glasses is _breathtaking_. His eyes seem to shimmer and shine, pools of endless water. _Shit._

The guy touches Eren lightly on the shoulder, and Eren grins up at him from under his hair. Jean finds his heart beating faster. He is swamped by an urge to punch that miserable fucker. How _dare_ he take _Jean’s (fake) boyfriend_ out on a date!

As they pass, Eren casts Jean a sidelong grin, and Jean feels like he might melt on the spot. He pulls his face into one of his most frighteningly arrogant smirks- his best camouflage.

After he eats dinner, Jean prowls restlessly around his apartment. He tries watching T.V. but isn’t interested. He doesn’t feel like doing anything, but he’s too wired for sleep. He feels itchy in his own skin. 

Jean quit smoking years ago, but sometimes he can’t help sinking back into it. He has a pack he keeps in one of his kitchen drawers, which he pulls out every once in a while. He’s had this same pack for a year and it’s still more than three quarters full. He grabs it and heads out to the dilapidated play structure in the front of the building, under the tree.

Smoking is a disgusting, smelly habit, but tonight Jean feels like wallowing in disgusting, smelly misery. It’s a clear night. He stares up at the full, gleaming moon. For some reason, it reminds him of Eren.

He tries to shake Eren out of his mind. Eren is a casual neighbor, nothing more, someone he’s doing a favor for. Yeah, maybe Jean used to have kind of a crush on him ( _used to?_ _kind of?_ ), but Jean doesn’t have the guts to ask him out, and, even if he did, Eren has made it very clear that he’s not the least bit interested in that sort of thing with Jean. The sooner Jean accepts this, the better. Maybe it’s about time to fake break up with him, though. Jean’s got his own life; he doesn’t need this ball and chain around his neck. Especially seeing as how it’s all chain and no balls, he thinks to himself grimly.

He hears a car door slam but doesn’t make anything of it. He likes being out here, sitting on this rusted old play structure. No one ever uses it. Some grad student with little kids must have put it up years ago, but they’ve long since moved out, and no one’s ever bothered to take it down. 

Feet stomp over. Jean is annoyed with himself for recognizing the sound of those particular feet along the sidewalk. He thinks he can even hear anger coursing through them. Eren’s grim face confirms this impression.

“Didn’t go well?” Jean asks, trying to ignore his own internal cheerleading squad.

Eren gives a weak laugh. “That’s one way of putting it.”

“Oh?” asks Jean, interested.

“You shouldn’t smoke,” says Eren.

“I know,” says Jean.

“Your body is a temple and all that.”

Jean grins despite himself. “Yeah, I know. Feel free to leave.” Nonetheless, he flicks the cigarette stub down and grinds it out with his toe. He leans back, embracing the brief rush of the nicotine.

“What happened?”

“It started out great. Reiner’s an interesting guy. Hot, too. Good kisser.”

Jean grimaces. Once again, a surprisingly hot flush of anger coils in his belly at the thought of Reiner touching Eren. It’s ridiculous – it’s absolutely none of his business who touches Eren. “Spare me the gruesome details.”

Eren sighs. “Sorry. I was being sarcastic. We didn’t even kiss- didn’t get the chance. The date _was_ pretty fun, though. Until Mikasa showed up.”

“No way!” says Jean, surprised enough to look up.

“Yes way,” says Eren grimly. “It was a nightmare. She kept acting as my personal bodyguard, throwing herself in front of me like a living shield. Then I got really angry and I yelled at her. I ended up getting escorted from the premises.” He rubs his eyes tiredly. “I’ve been working so hard on not getting angry.” He sighs heavily. “Now I’ll have to apologize to her. And to Reiner. I doubt he’ll want to see me again.”

Eren looks so miserable that Jean can’t help but feel sorry for him. He tries not to be thrilled at the idea that Reiner may not want to see Eren again. Nonetheless, spurred on by this happy thought, he says, “Do you want me to talk to her? Tell her to back off and give you some space? That way you can wait until you’ve calmed down before you speak with her?”

“Would you really do that?” Eren asks curiously.

“I would. Consider it one of my fake boyfriend responsibilities.” Although, if Mikasa was there, and therefore knows that Eren and Reiner were on a date, Jean isn’t sure why he would still be pretending to be Eren’s boyfriend. He decides not to bring this up.

Eren laughs. “I didn’t know that fell under the scope of the fake boyfriend contract, but I would certainly appreciate it. Some space from her would be really helpful right now.”

“I can’t promise results, but I can give it a try.”

“Thanks, man. I’ll text you her number. You’re an amazing fake boyfriend.” He punches Jean lightly on the chest and heads to the stairwell. “Let me know how it goes.”

“Oh,” says Mikasa. “It’s you.”

“Yes,” says Jean. “It’s me. Eren is really upset.”

There is a long silence.

“I can understand that.”

“He cares about you, you know. He knows you’re going through a rough time. But you treat him like a child. A small, incompetent child. A toddler, even.”

“I know,” she sighs. “Listen, Jean. I appreciate you being kind about it. I know it seems like I’m crazy. It’s just… Eren and I are both orphans, now, and I feel connected to him and… I can’t stand the thought of any harm coming to him. I don’t want to lose him.”

“I get that. But you’re going to lose him as your friend if you keep acting like this.”

“I know,” she says, in a small voice.

“Listen, Mikasa. It’s not a hopeless situation. I think Eren will forgive you. I know he feels badly about yelling. But he needs some space. Let him come to you when he’s ready.”

“Hmmm,” says Mikasa. “I can… try.”

Well. Jean wasn’t expecting that. “That’s fantastic, Mikasa. Thank you. That’s all Eren can ask for. And I hope that things get… better for you.”

“Thanks, Jean. It hasn’t been easy. But I think I’m finally coming out the other side.”

“I’m glad to hear that,” Jean says. He means it, and not just because of how this will impact Eren. He feels a new empathy for her.

Neither speaks for a moment, and Jean is just opening his mouth to end the call, when Mikasa says,” “Can I give you some advice?”

“Um. I guess so,” says Jean, agreeing for the sake of politeness, even though he has never appreciated unsolicited advice.

“You should ask Eren out for real.”

Jean splutters slightly.

“I know you were the fake boyfriend. I’m not an idiot. I was impressed, actually. You did a good job defending him.”

“Why did you buy all those condoms, then?” he can’t help asking.

“Ah, as to that.” Unbelievably, Mikasa sounds embarrassed. “I had never really thought about Eren being sexually active, and I wanted him to be safe.”

“So many, though?”

“I… I do want him to have a good time, and I wasn’t sure what kind he preferred.”

Jean thinks this is rather sweet.

“But I’d rather he didn’t have a good time with that Reiner guy. So, that’s why you should ask him out. You at least will keep him well fed.”

Jean snorts. “You have strange dating criteria.”

“Maybe. Will you think about it?”

“I-“ he’s about to say how much he wants to, how the thought of Eren with anyone else is utterly maddening, when he hears the echo of Marco’s voice, _I don’t love you, Jean. I never have._ And he... can't.

“Thank you, Mikasa, for your time,” he says brusquely. “I’ll tell Eren we talked, and I know he’ll appreciate you treating him like the adult he is from now on. Goodnight.”

“Jean-“

“Goodbye, Mikasa.” He hangs up.

“How’d it go? You’re still alive, so that’s a bonus, right?” Jean brought dinner over to Eren’s tonight, and they’ve taken up their usual lounging spots on the couch.

“Yeah. It went… well, actually. I’ve changed my mind about Mikasa. She’s not so bad.”

“ _What?”_

“Yeah. We had a good conversation. She’s going to do her best to give you some space.”

“Wow!” says Eren. “Impressive.” He looks impressed. Impressed and utterly beautiful. Jean wants, so, so badly, to reach out and touch Eren. He curls his hand into a fist to stop it from acting of its own accord. He likes Eren a lot. A whole lot. All of the sudden, Jean feels like maybe he does have it in him to ask Eren out. He doesn’t know where it’s coming from. Maybe the talk with Mikasa gave him the exact kick in the ass he needed? His pulse jumps. He’s actually going to do it.

“Eren – “

“Jean – “

Jean laughs nervously. “You go first.”

“Oh, okay. I just wanted you to know, I’m going out with Reiner again next Friday. He was willing to give it another try. We’re going to dinner this time.” He picks up the bag of condoms, which for some reason is still sitting on the floor next to the couch. “Which ones should I bring, do you think? The flavored ones? Or ‘Extended – designed for longer lasting pleasure’?”

Jean scowls.

“Jeez, look at your face! It was a joke! I’m not sleeping with him on Friday. But I hope at least a good kiss. It’s been a while.” Eren sighs.

A very unpleasant image rises in Jean’s mind, of Reiner’s muscular arms around Eren, Reiner’s lips kissing Eren, Reiner’s meaty hand on Eren’s shirt, drifting lower, and lower still… Jean grimaces and shudders. Why the hell is the imagery so vivid?

“What were you going to say?” asks Eren, oblivious to Jean’s discomfort.

“Oh. Um. Nothing.”

“You sure?”

“Yeah.” Jean is sure. Absolutely, one hundred fucking percent sure.

‘So, what are we watching tonight?” Eren asks breezily, as though he didn’t just sucker punch Jean.

Jean finds that he no longer feels like sitting here and watching a movie with Eren.

“You know, Jaeger, maybe the time has come to end this thing we’ve got going on,” he says slowly.

“What do you mean?” asks Eren, confused.

“I mean, I think I want to break up.”

“But we’re not even going out?” says Eren. Jean wonders why it’s phrased as a question.

“Precisely,” says Jean, his lips a thin line.

“What the heck does that mean?”

What Jean wants to say is, _Don’t go out with Reiner again. Go out with me. I like you. I want to get to see your eyes without your glasses. I want to kiss you. I want to be your real boyfriend._ But he can’t do it. _Why am I such a fucking coward?_ he wonders. It’s amazing, really. He wonders absently if there is a Guinness Book of World Records entry for cowardly behavior.

But afraid he is, so instead of saying the truth, he lets the anger at himself sharpen his voice into a knife. “It means, why should I suffer through all the shit and not get any of the benefits?”

A spasm of hurt passes so quickly over Eren’s face that Jean is almost not sure he sees it, because then Eren’s face stiffens in fury, and a brilliant, flaming red suffuses it.

Jean is opening his mouth to apologize, to try to take back those words, to try to explain, to make it up to Eren, to make it _better._

But Eren has quick reflexes and an even quicker temper, and he lets fly first. “Suffer through all the shit? This time with me is shit?” The air seems to crackle and spit around him. It’s like an explosion of fireworks.

Jean can only stare at the sudden raging inferno that is Eren. What the fuck is wrong with him? Why did he say those things in the first place, when he didn’t mean them? Why can’t he just ask Eren out? But Eren’s not waiting for any explanations.

“Fuck you, Jean! If it’s all shit, then get the fuck out of here! Go on! Leave!” He makes a shooing motion with his hands. “What makes you think it’s any better for me, putting up with your arrogant assface every week?”

“My arrogant assface, is it?” Jean responds venomously. It feels good to let it out. The hot acid he wants to hurl at himself, at Marco. Let Jean make the usual muckup of everything by spraying it all out at Eren, who doesn’t deserve it in the least. Kind-hearted, fiery, adorable Eren. “I’m happy to leave. To leave this fake fucking apartment, and this fake relationship, and to fucking leave you! Have fun fucking Reiner with your seventy-two condoms!”

“I will!” yells Eren to Jean’s stiff back.

When Jean slams his door shut – neighbors be damned – he cannot believe it’s all gone to hell so goddamned quickly. It’s almost worse than Marco leaving him, because this time it’s his own fault. And this time he hurt someone else’s feelings. Someone who, he can finally admit to himself, he cares about.

Jean thumps down the stairs. It’s been a month since The Incident, and he’s gotten used to the near-constant itchy feeling on his skin. He’s got his cigarettes in hand, and he’s on his way to the old play structure. He’s lost in his thoughts, and by the time he realizes that there’s someone else there, it’s too late. That someone has already recognized him. He can tell by the way Eren’s body stiffens.

“Sorry,” Jean says gruffly, and turns to go.

“I’m leaving,” Eren mutters. His head is down, and his shoulders are hunched as he rises up from the metal rungs. Jean thinks sadly of how Eren used to be happy to see him, how his eyes would brighten. Jean could see it, even with the glasses. And now it’s head down and shoulders hunched.

“Wait-“ he says.

“What?” asks Eren angrily. His fists are clenched at his sides.

Well. Jean deserves that. But then he squares his shoulders. In some way, Eren’s overt hostility is liberating. Does Jean really have anything left to lose here? Maybe it’s not the worst thing in the world, after all, to have his own heart stomped on. Maybe it’s worse to stomp on someone else’s. And maybe he should try to do something about that. Such as, at the very least, apologize.

Jean isn’t prepared for this. He has no words at the ready, no speech planned, and his heart is stuttering in his chest. But somehow he’s able to squeeze something out.

“I’m sorry for what I said. That night. I – I didn’t mean it.” His voice is barely audible, and Jean wonders if Eren even hears him, but he must, because he’s not moving. This fact propels Jean to keep going, because, apparently, he has more to say.

“The time I spent with you was really… special to me.” He doesn’t know what the hell has come over him, why he’s still talking. “I was angry and –” he exhales rapidly and raises his eyes. The moon is shining down on both of them, outlining Eren’s hair in silver. “And jealous. I… I wanted-“ And then he’s stuck. His throat has closed over. Nothing else can pass through.

There is a long silence.

“What did you want?” Eren asks, in a strangled voice. 

This loosens Jean’s throat just enough, and now he gathers all his tattered courage – it _will_ take courage, after all – and spits out through gritted teeth, “I wanted to- to be your real boyfriend.” Shit. He’s done it now. He wonders why he’s still standing, why he hasn’t turned into a ball of ash. But then, strangely, it’s not as bad as he expected. He hadn’t realized how much the words were weighing on him, like a block of concrete. It’s almost easy, now, to let the last bit slide out. “I wanted to be the one to take you out on a date. To be with you. The one to – to kiss you. I know I screwed up, and you’ve moved on. But… I’m sorry for being such a fucking coward, and I’m especially sorry for… hurting you.”

There is another silence. Jean’s not sure what he’s waiting for. For Eren to accept his apology? To thank him for his honesty? To say they could maybe even be… friends? But nothing’s coming from Eren. It seems like they’re done here. Time for Jean to leave. He feels empty, again, but a different kind of emptiness, a clean emptiness, without all that hatred and anger festering underneath it. He did good this time. He was brave. And that, at least, is something. 

“Well, uh, see you,” he says in a rough voice. He turns to leave.

Eren grabs Jean’s arm, swinging him back.

“I haven’t moved on,” Eren says conversationally, his voice steady, his grip on Jean firm.

“No?” Jean whispers.

“No,” says Eren. “And the time with you was special to me, too.” His face is flushed. Jean can tell, even in the moonlight.

“It was?” Jean can barely breathe.

“I, also, wanted… more,” Eren continues levelly. He’s moved so he is now standing right in front of Jean. He stretches up and kisses Jean’s cheek. A peck, like the first night Jean came over with the lasagna. This time, he doesn’t withdraw afterwards. He stays up on his toes, his hands on Jean’s shoulders, leaning into Jean’s neck.

“Hey, Jean,” he whispers. The sound of his name on Eren’s lips sets Jean's blood thundering in his veins.

“Yes?” Jean breathes.

“I was thinking.” A kiss on Jean’s ear. Jean shivers.

“If you wouldn’t mind.” Another kiss. 

“If you would consider.” One more kiss, this time with a flick of Eren’s tongue. Jean draws in a sharp breath. “Going out with me?”

For a moment, Jean is completely frozen, Eren’s hands heavy on his shoulders, Eren’s breath on his ear. Then he takes in the words. Marco’s face flickers briefly in his mind and vanishes just as quickly. All he has in front of him is Eren. Prickly, tender, precious Eren. He pulls back enough so he can cup Eren’s face in his hands.

“Are you asking me out on a date?” he says quietly.

“Yes, you idiot,” says Eren, in an exasperated tone, but then it turns soft, uncertain. “Will you? Go out with me? On Friday?”

“That depends,” Jean says. Eren's brow furrows. Jean brushes his lips against Eren’s, and he feels Eren’s face relax.

“Will this date involve spaghetti?” Another faint kiss. Eren’s lips are soft and warm against his. Jean’s thumbs gently stroke Eren’s cheeks.

“Or any cooking at all on your part?” He kisses Eren a third time – lightly, lightly.

He can feel Eren’s grin against his mouth.

“I was… ah… thinking, that you might want to do the cooking? And then – we could go to laser tag?” Eren says breathlessly. His hands are tight on the back of Jean’s neck now, tugging him down as Eren drops back onto his feet. And then Eren is kissing him in earnest. And Jean can’t answer the question, because it’s very hard to think coherently when Eren’s body is hard against his, when Eren’s tongue is in his mouth, when Eren is making those desperate, panting noises. It’s got Jean feeling weak in the knees, to be honest. He’s glad Eren is holding onto him so tightly.

When he finally remembers that the question is still hanging between them, he drags himself back with effort. It’s a good thing, too, because he’s a bit short on air, and he better stock up on some oxygen before he passes out. And he does want to answer the question. It was something important, wasn’t it? If only he can remember… Oh. Right. A date. A _real_ one. Laser tag.

“Yes,” he says. “I’ll go on a date with you.” He can’t help leaning in and licking into Eren’s mouth. Eren lets out a low moan. Jean forces himself back out again. There was something else he wanted to say, even though it’s almost impossible to concentrate with Eren’s mouth so tantalizingly close to his. Ah, that was it. “But be warned. I am the master of laser tag. You are going down. Hard.”

“Promises, promises,” is all Eren says, as he yanks Jean back into a deep kiss.

Jean laughs into Eren’s mouth, and wonders, briefly, if they are still in boyfriend purgatory. And then he thinks that it doesn’t really matter if they are. As long as they’re in it together.

**Author's Note:**

> (Not sure if it works, but I’ve wrestled what I can out of it. also had trouble with a title - will probably change if i can think of something better.)


End file.
